


Call of the Beast

by Steangine



Category: Bleach
Genre: Blood, Humiliation, M/M, Poor Grimmjow, Vasto Lorde Ichigo, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 19:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steangine/pseuds/Steangine
Summary: Grimmjow dragged himself away from the battlefield. Ichigo reached him.[Secret Santa for Owari 26 - definitely non con - quite heavy]





	Call of the Beast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Owari26](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owari26/gifts).



> If you don't like non con, do not keep reading.  
> I want to thank oldtown156 for the beta and the Secret Santa (Satan) boss for giving me the chance of writing something different from usual. I hope this present will be to Owari's liking; thanks for giving me the chance of writing this idea that had been bugging me for a while.

Grimmjow dragged himself away from the battlefield. Blades from both sides of the battle had torn his body, slashed his flesh and crushed his pride, leaving behind a worm slithering on the dull white sand of Hueco Mundo. Only death would have saved him from the shame devouring his guts, like a parasite drinking at the well of his miserable condition. But neither that privilege was bestowed upon his disgraced existence. Instead, he was given another chance to keep living with the regret of losing, with the shame of being saved by his very enemy instead of being killed by him. Kurosaki dealt the final blow without using his sword, he looked down at him from his pedestal and became his shield against Nnoitra: with that action he deemed Grimmjow not being worthy of the title of enemy.

They were fighting. Grimmjow felt Ichigo and Ulquiorra’s reiatsu clashing, warriors pointing their blades at each other, standing on the same ground, fighting for their lives. Las Noches was far away, but their energy reached Grimmjow and lashed his pride: he survived his subordinates, he survived his most important battle as a loser. Win and live, or lose and perish. He lost and lived. He could not think of a worse degree of humiliation.

Grimmjow advanced crawling on his arms. Behind him, a shameful trail connected to the place which witnessed the inadequacy of his words and actions. He stopped bleeding, but each centimetre he gained was the result of the desperation burning inside his chest and fuelling his weakened body. When the flames of his rage weren’t enough anymore to keep him moving, Grimmjow stopped. Silent and still like the rocks around him, a useless shelter against enemies who wouldn’t have lost time at devouring him once the threat vibrating in the air wouldn’t have kept them away anymore. Dying by the hands of lesser Hollows... how pitiful.

Grimmjow closed his eyes and listened; listened to Ulquiorra’s reiatsu exploding in a black pit of horror, and he was both afraid and angered. What a fool he was, believing he could have taken down Ulquiorra. What a fool Ichigo was, believing he could fight him. It didn’t take much before the flickering glimmer of Ichigo’s reiatsu died. Ulquiorra managed where Grimmjow failed, he stole his prey for good.

Despite having no energy left, Grimmjow growled his desperation. If only someone strong enough arrived and pierced through his body, where there once was his heart, he would have died peacefully. But none of the Shinigami who burst in Hueco Mundo to save Ichigo and his friends were even aware of his existence. He was no king. He was a nobody. The realization hurt more than the sand grinding into his searing injuries. He wanted to put an end to it, but he didn’t want to end like the miserable creature Ichigo made him become. He didn’t want...

Silence. Then a void. Something from Las Noches awakened. Ulquiorra’s new form filled the air with an ominous heavy sensation clinging onto the skin. Ichigo’s awakening attracted everything to him like a terrifying black hole.

Grimmjow realized it was Ichigo the very moment he felt like he was slowly sucked back towards Las Noches. His body didn’t move an inch, but the whole world was spinning around him; the reishi flowed in endless streams, called by the new entity which screamed his dominance on that world.

For a second, an endless second, Grimmjow hoped Ulquiorra was still strong enough to counter him. But Ulquiorra died. His reiatsu gently faded like sand that was blew away from the hands of a child. Ichigo killed him. The thought blasted an explosion of satisfaction inside Grimmjow, a warm ignition which allowed him to move enough to raise his face from the sand and look up. Then he realized that if Ulquiorra stood no chance, he couldn’t even think of standing in front of whatever Ichigo became and the satisfaction melted into a gloomy shame.

The ominous presence engulfed Las Noches, the reiatsu extended in powerful flows and made everything gravitate towards him. Then, the flows stopped, everything became calm again.

Silence. Ichigo left an explosion behind him as he dashed away from Las Noches. The rumble devastated the quiet; he became the storm which devoured the sinister calm of Hueco Mundo, filling it with his own presence. Like a ruler, like a king. Or maybe it was just Grimmjow who perceived him as if he was filling the whole world.

Grimmjow realized almost immediately that Ichigo was heading in his direction. However, when he landed in front of him, he couldn’t help but be surprised; he couldn’t explain how he could have dragged his attention with all the powerful souls lurking in Las Noches.

Ichigo stood in front of him, his defeated enemy. Fierce and enraged by the power Ichigo feared it would have devoured him; and it did, leaving of him only his body and his blade. The white mask, the black hole, the cold reiatsu: there was nothing left of the Shinigami who fought Grimmjow.

His reiatsu enveloped Grimmjow, countless heavy shackles imprisoning him and freezing him on the ground. Yet, Grimmjow grinned.

“Here… to kill me, huh?” There was something amusing in that perspective, because if Ichigo decided to kill him, it meant he considered him being at the same level of Ulquiorra. However, Grimmjow didn’t feel relieved.

The monstrous skeletal-like face showed no emotion, only an empty awful reproduction of a human skull with empty orbits carved on the white surface. The deep pits where Ichigo’s yellow eyes should have been skewered Grimmjow. The creature which pretended to be Ichigo was still, as silent as the desert of Hueco Mundo. He let his reiatsu speak for him, conveying the menace he represented for every living being, no matter if Hollow, Shinigami, Quincy or Human.

Grimmjow waited. Ichigo’s reiatsu pressed him to the ground in the same way Aizen’s did; to remind him and all the Espada he was a god and they were only miserable insects dancing on the palm of his hand. Ichigo was reminding him he was no king anymore, his throne shattered, and he was nothing but a pebble in front of him. Yet, it was different. Aizen’s reiatsu was a weight falling from the sky. Ichigo’s reiatsu was _alive_. It was pushing inside Grimmjow, flowing into his body and giving him back a little strength, enough to feel his body to the point he could move again. It burnt, it itched. Grimmjow didn’t want it. He took all the breath he could held hold into his hurting chest.

“Are you pitying me?!”

His yell ripped the silence. Ichigo grabbed him. It was painful. Grimmjow felt the fingers strangling his throat, sinking deeper as Ichigo raised him from the ground. The red light of the cero between his horns flickered a bit. It would have been the last thing he ever saw. The thought both irritated and reassured Grimmjow: instead of being a worm rotting to death, he would reach the end of the path killed by someone stronger than him. Someone who looked down on him, someone who didn’t deem him worthy of his time, who was already thinking about all the other enemies he believed he could defeat on his own during their fight. But still someone powerful. Grimmjow felt a chuckle tickling his throat, but he didn’t emit a single sound. How laughable and pitiful. Not closing his eyes, Grimmjow stared at the red glimmer packing condensing into a ball ready to cero his head away from his body, as he he’d? tried to do not that much time before with Ichigo. Maybe some part behind that Hollow mask, recalled it. Ichigo’s reiatsu flickered, an inflection that seemed like he encountered an obstacle he couldn’t smash with his strength and had to stop for an instant. Grimmjow felt it. And, the instant later, the cero diminished. Ichigo absorbed the reiatsu he was compressing, the red light diminished until it disappeared.

Silence fell on them.

Grimmjow raised both arms, heavy useless chunks swinging at his sides, and clung his fingers around the arm that was holding him by his throat. The empty black eyes stared at him, the mouth slightly trembled. In an instant, the jaws spread out, letting out a loud desperate shriek. The inhuman voice rang inside Grimmjow’s body and echoed into his mind, throwing him inside a spiral of confusion. His senses were clouded for a long slow instant. The pain awakened him.

Ichigo smashed him against the closest rock. So strongly that he dragged Grimmjow away from the pit of unconsciousness and carved his figure inside the stone, blocking him into that natural cage. The blurred figure in front of Grimmjow became clearer and clearer as he blinked, gaining the form of the Hollow who Ichigo turned into, holding his zanpakuto in the right hand. Before Grimmjow could even realize, Ichigo sank the blade.

Everything stopped.

Grimmjow didn’t feel the physical pain. However, something happened to him. A deep shiver awakened his body, a stream of heat flooded inside him and devoured his mind. Ichigo’s zanpakuto pierced the exact centre of his Hollow hole. From there came sensation where nothing had ever existed before within Grimmjow, the weird vibrations violated his reiryoku and reverberated through his whole being. Ichigo’s reiatsu was inside him.

When Ichigo extracted the sword, it was like he carved it out from his burning flesh. However, it wasn’t pain, it was something else. Something Grimmjow didn’t completely understand, something which was familiar but too far into time that he could give it a name, an identity. His body was reacting in an unknown way and he couldn’t control it. That was the closest thing to fear that Grimmjow had ever felt in his Hollow existence.

“Kuro–”

Ichigo pierced the rock at the sides of his head with both hands. He was so close that one of the horns slashed on Grimmjow’s cheek. The fresh blood covered a dry scab mingled with sand and dripped from Grimmjow’s chin.

Their bodies were close, the tension between them tangible. Grimmjow felt countless needles piercing his skin in the waiting of what Ichigo wanted to do. He didn’t understand him, didn’t know what he wanted to do. His mask didn’t show any expressions, his eyes could see everywhere and Grimmjow would have never known if they were looking at him or somewhere else. Ichigo was a cat enjoying his dinner, mocking the little helpless mouse before devouring it. Grimmjow’s patience was a tense thin thread, and it snapped.

“Just do it!” Ichigo slightly backed his head away. “Kill me already! You bastard!” Another boiling shiver exploded from his Hollow hole. Grimmjow clenched his teeth.

A low, continuous growl was the only reply. The hollow head tilted aside slightly, a silent puzzled reaction to something unexpected. Again he approached Grimmjow’s face, the low gurgle kept coming out from his throat: more than a warrior on the verge of dealing the final blow, he looked more like a wild animal inspecting the living creature he found into the desert.

Their bodies were so close now that they almost touched. When they did, Grimmjow froze, the tension leaving the place to a cold horror filling his chest. He didn’t feel fear in front of the beast Ichigo became, nor did he in front of the perspective of death. Grimmjow feared his own body. The control over his self was the most precious of his conquers; it traced the line between him and the countless Hollows crawling in a mindless darkness. So Grimmjow feared that the reaction of his body that he couldn’t control and had no apparent reason to be.

“What…?”

Something flowed inside his body and awakened it: a spurt of heat, the thing nearest to the concept of life he had, grew from the inner depths of him and rushed through his whole being. Grimmjow trembled and he hated himself, because he had no mean to stop whatever was sprouting from him and softening the itches of pain.

“Kuro–”

The pressure around his throat suffocated his words and blinded his mind. The pressure between his legs awakened it.

Grimmjow was dragged back from the other side of the black veil of unconsciousness, ripped away from the blessing of ignoring what was happening to his body. He wasn’t a rival for Ichigo, he’d never been, but at least he was recognized as an obstacle in front of his path. Now Grimmjow was even less than a bothersome pebble, falling into the miserable condition of a tool, being alive only because of a physical reaction beyond his control. Each thrust slammed against his groin. It didn’t matter how the throaty cries tingling his left ear sounded inhuman, or how the fingers carved deep into the flesh of his neck: instead of feeling repulsion, his body burnt of arousal. Grimmjow was disgusted by himself.

“S-stop!”

He coughed out what his mind wanted. If only if only his body wasn’t trapped in the rock, it would have submitted to the rough thrusts, followed following the movements of Ichigo, in the desperation of finding pleasure.

Surprisingly, Ichigo stopped. His hand on his throat, his body pressed against Grimmjow, one of the horns painfully scratching Grimmjow’s mask. The desperate rubs ended so suddenly that Grimmjow didn’t realize what happened until Ichigo pulled him out from the rock.

Grimmjow rolled on the sand; the world revolved in front of his eyes; a deep nausea hit him in the stomach. With his face pressed against the white desert, Grimmjow had enough time to feel the reiatsu Ichigo poured inside him. It rushed like fire, urged his body in an inferno of sensations he wasn’t used to, ranging from itching pain to tormenting desire. He wanted to touch himself and rip that mask from Ichigo’s face with his bare hands; he wanted to satisfy the deep hunger of his body and penetrate Ichigo with his sword until he couldn’t move anymore.

When Ichigo dragged him again towards himself, Grimmjow was aware of what was going to happen. His body knew it before his consciousness and the traitor shivered, reacting to the reiatsu forced on him. Grimmjow was wet and ready to welcome Ichigo’s fury inside of him, and yet he dug his fingers into the sand, trying to crawl his way far from the claws leaving red lines of blood on his thighs. Warm and thick, it drew tiny scarlet streams following the lines of the muscles. The blood dropped on the white hakama, ripped with a single violent pull, and mingled with the gunky white liquid dripping from inside him along the thighs.

Grimmjow was half-naked; exposed and defenceless at at the mercy of Ichigo and his own instinct. The scorching pain ripping his insides was so intense that Grimmjow almost came back to his senses: for an instant, the thick veil of lust teared, freeing Grimmjow’s body from the clamp of Ichigo’s reiatsu. The claws entered deep inside, violated and hurt his body, scratched the tender flesh bringing nothing but a sharp pain which awakened Grimmjow from the slumber long enough for him to find the words and the strength to use them.

“Bastard! I’m going to kill you!”

Yet, he spread his legs and raised his hips as Ichigo pulled the fingers out, leaving behind a cold sense of emptiness. His muscles pulsated because of pain, but the only physical response was a desperate need for pleasure. Grimmjow turned his head and glared at Ichigo. A feeling that he couldn’t transmit overcame his body; his mouth watered looking at the white erection piercing from the black shihakusho, and a throbbing shameful pain struck him in between his legs. He wanted Ichigo inside him, his body was demanding to be filled and ravished. And Ichigo didn’t wait. In a single trust, he was inside Grimmjow.

A loud feral scream filled the empty air of Hueco Mundo, yelling the satisfaction of reaching what his body was desiring yet his mind couldn’t figure out from the start. Ichigo nourished his lust with Grimmjow’s body and blood, tasting it in a frenzy which led to him spearing inside the delicious cave. His hips smacked against Grimmjow’s ass, the smacking sounds gave the rhythm to Ichigo’s monstrous growls of pleasure.

Grimmjow threw away the last shed of sanity that made him place his hatred for Ichigo in front of everything else. He gave up. Ichigo pressed upon switches Grimmjow wasn’t aware he possessed, pouring his reiatsu inside him and making his body a quivering mess which only demanded to be satisfied. Grimmjow groaned; the boundary between pain and pleasure disintegrated in front of the erection smashing inside him. The reiatsu, the smell, the pleasure, all intoxicating Grimmjow and erased his consciousness, turning him into a mindless beast craving sex.

“M-more…” His voice was low, distorted by the thrusts. “M-more…” Inhale. “Harder. More!”

He couldn’t tell if Ichigo understood his pleas or if he only acted on a whim. He barely yelled the last word before he felt a powerful clench clamping on the curve of his neck, near the shoulder. Ichigo’s teeth sank into his flesh, drinking in Grimmjow’s blood. Grimmjow roared. A scream of pain and pleasure, he didn’t know. His mind blanked as his semen squirted on the sand at each thrust, bringing with it the intense peak of lust and what remained of Grimmjow’s energies. Inside his ass, he could feel Ichigo’s semen marking him; near his ear the low dangerous purr of the beast still slamming his pleasure into his prey.

Grimmjow fell back on the sand, too exhausted to feel anything. He was empty. Ichigo fell right behind him, unconscious even before lying down. Grimmjow heard the sound of his mask shattering, he felt the vastness of his reiatsu compressing again into the spiritual energy of a Shinigami. It was over.

How much time passed, Grimmjow couldn’t tell. There wasn’t a sense of time in Hueco Mundo, because there wasn’t the passing of the days and the seasons. At some point, he stood up. On his body were the marks of shame, his own blood and semen dirtying what remained of his clothes and sticking to his skin. Behind him, Ichigo was sleeping: the mask disappeared, the hole closed, his skin turned back to its natural colour, and his hair was short. His sword lay not far away from him.

Each step was a dreadful fight against his desire to let his consciousness leave him. Yet, Grimmjow took Zangetsu and dragged himself back next to Ichigo. His eyes were cold, filled with rage. Zangetsu shone under the light of the white moon.

When Ichigo next awoke, there was Ishida at his side. He felt the warmth of Orihime’s reiatsu and turned his head only to see she was worried to tears. Ichigo put a hand to his chest, where Ulquiorra opened a hole; he had no memories of what happened after that. Only a strange lingering tickle all over his skin. He knew for sure that it had nothing to do with Orihime and felt like, whatever it was, stuck on him so deep that she wasn’t able to reverse it.

Ichigo looked at her but couldn’t stand her sad expression. He turned to Ishida. “…what happened?”

Zangetsu was stuck into the ground, close to him.


End file.
